Know Thy Enemy
by Evil-Irish-Wolf
Summary: The Joker always thought that if he saw Batman out of his bat-suit, in everyday life, that he’d know him immediately. However, as he stared at Bruce Wayne, he couldn't be sure. Joker/Batman, as always. Slash! -For Tera Earth-


**Disclaimer:** Property of: Warner Bros, DC Comics, Legendary Films, Chris Nolan, Bale and Ledger. WHY?? I WANT IT!! WHY NOT ME?!

**Warnings**:** Slash! Huzzah! **

--These things always end up so long. I only intended for it to be 1,000 words. -_sigh_- Things never work out as planned. Perhaps, that's the Joker's way of telling me to stop trying to plan his fics out. -_shrug_- Maybe I'm just crazy for thinking that a fictional character is actually concerned about my random fiction about him and his nonexistent superhero boyfriend/arch-nemesis. Who knows…I'll just get on with it, yea?

--Semi-companion to _He'll Show Them._ I don't know. It's not pertinent to read the other. They just kind of go together in my mind.

--Just enjoy…I need sleep. The baby was up all night, my little sister that's kind of my child since my parents are useless and never home. This has turned into a rambling therapy session. Just ignore the babbling author; she's sleep deprived and semi-ill.

**Three cheers for **_**Tera Earth**_** who threw this lovely idea my way. She's marvelous!**

This happens after the fund raiser, but before anything else. I'm pretending that Bruce is there because of a speeding ticket. You can imagine what you like. In case you were wondering WTF? at the time line.

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**Know Thy Enemy**

**By: EIW**

_"The famous Bruce Wayne. Rachel's told me everything about you. "  
"I certainly hope not." - Harvey Dent and Bruce Wayne, The Dark Knight_

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The Joker stared out of the now glassless window of the vacant office building, humming a random tune. He'd thrown one of his clowns out from it late last night. That's why there wasn't any glass. The man had screamed like a little girl the whole way down and then made a symphonic crunch as he landed head first on the pavement below. The blood was still splattered across the road in varying direction. It almost looked like an abstract art piece; the Joker thought it wasn't bad for his first try at painting. The man's death had been source of great entertainment. He'd laughed until his throat had stung. He couldn't really remember why he'd done it, not that it actually mattered.

The tall building that the Joker was using as his "secret lair," as he'd so lovingly dubbed it the night before, was closed down due to renovations. Flaps of the clear plastic material that were attached to the building twirled in the wind. The tall glittering skyscraper stood conveniently across the street from the police station.

The wind blew the Joker's green tinged hair around rapidly. A few strands stuck to his newly painted face. His make up had come off during the night.

He'd needed a touch up.

The Joker had been standing there for more than thirteen hours, waiting for the right moment to begin his game. His legs ached slightly, but he took no notice. His mind was swimming with thoughts, thoughts that were concentrated on his game with Batman, his never ending game with his only worthy adversary.

They'd had so much fun at their last meeting that he had to be sure that the next one would be even better. The Joker was never one to disappoint. It'd taken a while to scrounge up enough lackeys from the streets, but he finally had enough men to get the job done. All that was left was to get the final pieces into place, which usually happened without him having to lift a finger. People were so thoughtful. They usually just plopped right where he wanted them. It was dreadfully convenient.

As his mind danced around the subject of Batman, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb across the street. The shine from the expensive paint drew the Joker's attention back to reality. The silver tire rims dazzled in the sunlight.

He liked shiny things.

He liked black too. It was a good color, not as good as purple in his opinion, but decent nonetheless. After all, Batman wore black. He had a black car…tank…thing. Whatever the hell it was, it sure created a lot of damage. The Joker had to admire that. He liked violent machines that left a trail of destruction wherever they roamed.

Things like that made him dizzyingly excitable.

His thoughts always seemed to end up at Batman. Everything that he thought about could, in some obscure way, be connected to the caped man. He was more than obsessed. Batman was more like an addiction, a compulsion, a drug. He was something that the Joker couldn't and wouldn't ever quit.

He had a strange pull on the Joker, a pull that lured the painted faced villain out from the shadows of the night and called him to come and play. His insides were always giddily jumping about when the Batman came a-calling. The Joker would always get bouncy when he played with the winged wonder. His excitement was easily readable on his scarred face, his smile stretched ever further than usual, it almost seemed to defy the physical constraints of his face.

And then a man got out of that shiny black car.

The Joker's brain stopped thinking for a moment. It stalled all thought processes and he simply _stared_.

Something was off about that man. The Joker felt his stomach squirm.

The squirm was soon accompanied by an odd sensation in his head.

It was a hint of recognition the Joker realized. The feeling was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was there nonetheless. The Joker knew from experience that he shouldn't ignore his instincts. That's what he lived by. It's what kept him alive.

After a few seconds, his head began to _buzz_ with the feeling. He felt like he should know who that man was. Well, he did know him. He was Bruce Wayne. Rich boy, had a trust fund, wore a fancy suit, and gallivanted about town with girls that all looked the same. The Joker had done his homework. It had taken some bullying, cheating and threatening, but he'd gotten his answers. Bruce Wayne wasn't someone that the Joker was interested in. He didn't hold any fascinating talents and the Joker couldn't use him in any way. So, in essence, the man was irrelevant.

Then why was his brain stopping on him? Why was his entire being so fixated on this man? It was like a tiny tug in his brain that was begging for his attention, begging for him to find the link, to find out what life altering revelation was dangling just outside of his grasp.

There was something about him, something in his face, something in his being that practically called to the Joker. It was a feeling that he'd only felt for one other person, Batman. It wasn't nearly as strong as it was when he was near his arch-nemesis, but it was there in the corner of his mind, lingering and taunting him. It was yelling at him to understand, to make an unknown connection.

The Joker studied the man.

He was like any normal person that had more money than God. He was clean, slick, and tailored. His suit was beyond fancy, it was bordering on ostentatious. His hair was combed neatly, something that particularly bugged the Joker. People with neat hair just irritated him. It was his pet peeve, he supposed. The Joker had never liked combing his hair, even as a child. If he'd ever been a child, he couldn't quite remember anymore. It didn't really matter either way.

However, Wayne did have strong shoulders. Stronger than what a playboy should need, stronger than what physical vanity should call for. Maybe he did some sport; it wasn't out of the question. His face turned towards the window and the Joker grabbed the binoculars that hung from a piece of metal framework nearby. He got the rich boy into view and rolled his eyes in aggravation as Wayne turned away to talk to a police officer. He growled to himself and walked over to the right to get a better view.

Aha!

The Joker thought to himself as he finally got the perfect angle to assess the pretty boy. Yes, he was pretty, but not overly so. He was the perfect blend of classical handsomeness and the kind of noble look that so many rich folk had. His eyes were looking at the police officer, so the Joker couldn't really evaluate them. The man was very good at getting out of his line of vision.

The Joker looked at his face because that's where he found his brain focusing on.

"What am I looking for? What am I looking for? _What am I looking for?_ **_What am I looking for?_"**

The Joker repeated, his voice rising with anger when his brain didn't answer straight away. Trying to make his mind focus on the task at hand, he gripped the binoculars tightly and pressed the eye pieces painfully close to his eyes. His head was spinning, but the Joker was confused at what he was thinking. He couldn't properly link his thoughts together. Incomplete ideas and the beginning of sentences floated unfinished in his mind. He was looking at this stranger, but he couldn't conclude why.

And then Bruce Wayne turned his head to the left and frowned. At the same time, the sunlight hit his face in such a way that made it obvious why the Joker's mind was single-mindedly focusing on this man. His chin…it was slightly rounded and curved. His mouth was pursed slightly and he looked forcefully irritated.

The Joker took a few steps back and dropped the binoculars in shock.

He pulled at his hair and twirled in a circle, muttering incoherently to himself, asking unanswerable questions as the streams of images and thoughts exploded in his head.

Three of his unsuspecting hench-clowns trotted in lightheartedly. The Joker quickly spun around and threw his favorite knife at the first one. The man looked from the hilt buried in his chest to the blazing angry white face of the Joker and promptly slumped to the ground, dead.

The second man ran over to the stairs, but not quickly enough. Just as he made it to the first step, the Joker pushed him forcefully and the hench-clown rolled for a good six stories before loosing momentum and lay sprawled across the concrete floor. Blood drizzled out of his slack mouth. His body jerked a few times and then became still.

The last man was frozen in absolute terror. The Joker stalked towards him without a hint of laughter. The white faced man looked horrifying with the sunlight blazing orange behind him. As the Joker passed by, he snatched the binoculars from the floor and looped the strap around the last lackey's neck. The Joker's eyes glared poisonously at the man and he pulled the strap tight, effectively strangling the terrified man. The man struggled. His face began to change to a violent purple and the veins in his neck throbbed from the lack oxygen.

As the man gave his final twitches, a smile made its way back onto the Joker's face. He laughed quietly at first, but soon it turned into uncontrolled hysterics. After a few moments, the Joker remembered his task and uncoiled the binoculars from the dead clown's neck.

"I need those now, thank you." The Joker said smiling happily.

It was good to work out his aggression.

At least that's what the doctors at Arkham Asylum had told him the last time he'd stayed there. The rooms were boring and the food was gross, but he met some very interesting folks. The beds had strong springs, which made it fun to bounce on the bed mattresses. If he got enough momentum, he could touch the ceiling and do some flips. He and his roommate had a few competitions. Needless to say, there wasn't a lot of entertainment in the hospital for the criminally insane. The metal bed springs themselves were easily pliable. They made lovely searing silver knife like weapons. So that when he lost said bed jumping competition, he could stab his roommate and all would be right again. That's what he called multi-functional equipment.

The nurses' outfits hadn't been bad either. The Joker thought that he'd looked quite good in the dress like uniform. He certainly had the legs to carry it off, he thought grinning maniacally as he drove the dead nurse-woman's old station wagon at breakneck speeds towards the gated entrance/exit of Arkham Asylum. Perhaps he'd use that uniform again.

Now that he was back in control of his temper, the Joker turned back towards the scene by the car. They had certainly been standing there a long time. Not that the Joker was complaining. It gave him time to check the billionaire out.

Bruce Wayne's face resembled Batman's.

That's the conclusion that he'd drawn. Their jaws were similar, their mouths made the same expressions, their eyes had the same darkness to them; but then again, he wasn't close enough to see if that fire was there. That explosive, radiant, shining fire; the fire that made the Joker _squirm_ with anticipation. That fire would only come out if the Joker played his cards right. He had to persuade it out, coax it out with chaotic violence and senseless killings. Batman was not one to fly off the handle easily. He was patient and cautious and it took a lot to make him angry, really angry, really passionate about something. The only one who could do it was the Joker.

He was quite pleased with himself.

He stared at Bruce Wayne trying to find another resemblance.

Dent suddenly came out of the building and began talking to Wayne. The Joker was a master of observation and even from this distance, the Joker could tell that they were very passive aggressive towards one another. Batman was never passive about anything. Difference number one was duly noted.

Difference number two, Bruce Wayne stood with his head held slightly upwards and his hands in his pockets. It was a very arrogant stance. Batman wasn't arrogant. He was good and knew that, but he was never cocky. If he were, he'd have been dead long ago.

On to number three, Bruce Wayne smiled. The Joker supposed that his Bat could smile during the day, but it was odd to think about. It'd be a fake smile. Batman wasn't the smiling type. Actually, Wayne's didn't look too real either. Still, the Joker was less than convinced. Perhaps, Wayne was related to Batman? No, Wayne was an orphan, he'd checked out all the 'important' people in Gotham when he arrived. Still, maybe it was a long distance relation; the jaw line was too similar to be coincidence.

But Bruce Wayne looked like a child of the sun.

Batman was nothing if not a creature of the night. This man, this slightly naïve looking person, couldn't be Batman. He just couldn't be that menacing. The Joker knew that Batman had a daytime appearance, a life outside of their world. However, the transformation would be too extreme if Wayne was Batman.

Even so, the Joker felt too oddly about this man to let him go unchecked. The Joker would keep his eye on him. Watch him sometimes. Make sure that he wasn't mistaken after all; perhaps Batman was that good of an actor. Perhaps, he could be Bruce Wayne.

He was good at everything else. It was possible, it was plausible.

The Joker always thought that if he saw Batman out of his bat-suit, in everyday life, that he'd know him immediately. He'd see him and jump on him, punch him, scream at him, try to stab him, kiss him. Something, but it'd be something good, something to remember.

Now he wasn't too sure. He prided himself on knowing every detail about Batman, but now he wasn't so sure of his stance. Oh well, that was easily fixed. Next time they met, the Joker would be sure to be pay close attention to every detail, every insignificant facial feature, every gesture, and every word that left his mouth. Even if the Batman tried to hide his voice, the Joker was sure that his ear was keen enough to be able to decipher its true tone. The Joker would watch and wait and see how things turned out.

He'd meet his Batman one day, out of armored suits, out from under the masks and make-up, just _them_. One day…for now though he was content to play, content to wonder, content to just be with _him_.

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-- I hope that you liked it. I think that I've read it too many times to even conceive if it's alright. Hopefully, it will do. I feel a wee bit off today.

Thanks for reading and please **review**!

** Super special thank you to all of those reviewers who have read all my fics and reviewed! I love you. Seriously, you rock my world. **


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